


something about cake

by rosysea



Series: Earth -4 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Attempt at Humor, Barry Allen Messes With The Timeline, Gen, How is that not a tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pemmaphobia, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, There's A Tag For That, because Barry and Bruce are feeling it, is lying to yourself an emotion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosysea/pseuds/rosysea
Summary: In the beginning, there was the DC universe. But then everything changedwhen the fire nation attackedwhen Something went wrong and Barry Allen decided to travel back in time to fix it, screwing up the timeline even worse than it was originally. And thus, Earth -4 was born!Barry expected thing to be different. What he did not expect was the newspaper that conveniently flied into his face. As he grabbed it and read the headlines, The Author forced him to think out loud so the readers could hear, “What the hell are the Avengers???”(ongoing! updates when i have time to write)





	1. The beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things begin

His name is Barry Allen and he’s the (12th? 11th maybe?) fastest man alive. Which isn’t particularly impressive when he needs to, say, fight the 5th fastest man alive, or something like that. But it becomes quite handy when Barry is across the world and running late for his fiancé’s birthday party.

Ah, Iris West. Caramel skin, hazel eyes, curious, determined, courageous, and loyal to the truth and the people. The perfect Other Half for any superhero, and The Flash was more than happy to have her.

Too bad she died, though.

Worse even that Barry didn’t know it at this point in the story.

(he would have, if he was on time)

(granted, there was this world-level threat in which the Justice League needed someone faster than Superman)

(still)

When Barry got to the party, shoes flaming from the friction and hair stylishly windswept, chaos ensued. Or rather, was in the process of ensuing.

The first thing he noticed was the colorful frosting plastered all over the walls, as if the birthday cake had just exploded. Which was exactly what had happened; a defective sparkly candle had sparkled so hard that it blew up the cake, sending two other candles flying with enough force to stab themselves into Iris’s throat.

For some reason, guests were running panicked around the room like it was the apocalypse or something, and in the middle of all the commotion, kneeling by the floor, Joe West was holding his daughter’s limp body, the blood still flowing from her throat staining... Well, everything. It was a lot of blood. When he noticed Barry come in, completely lost, Joe turned to him with red-rimmed eyes.

“ _Where were you?!_ ” He accused, as if every accident in the universe was suddenly Barry’s fault.

Like. Sometimes it was, but not this time.

Probably.

“Err...” Barry answered, eloquently. “I can fix it.”

Which, of course, entailed in reckless Time Travelling.

Summoning The Speed Force, Barry ran into S.T.A.R. Labs for his suit, then used the conveniently close arc reactor to gather enough speed for Time Travelling, yay!

Arriving a few hours earlier, he changed the defective candles for normal sparkly ones, went over to help the Justice League before they even called him, and got to the party in time.

In time to watch Iris choke to death on a bit of frosting. Joe West kneeled by his daughter, then looked accusingly at Barry, who was already speeding out of the room before he could say anything.

Time Traveling, yay!

The second time, Barry fixed the Justice League’s problem before they even knew there was one, then spent the rest of the day by Iris’s side. Everything went well, and the party lasted hours, until it finally time for. Cake. Iris, as the birthday girl, claimed her right of having the first piece, and was rewarded with a very fast-acting poison. Joe grabbed her dead body before it reached the floor and looked at Barry.

Time Travelling, yay.

The third time, Barry went further back and made sure they didn’t order any cake. A cake was delivered anyway, and Someone thought it was a good idea to open it with a box cutter. The Someone slipped on a Whatever and fell, yes, on Iris. Joe looked at Barry.

Time Travelling. Um...

The fourth time, Barry forgot the world-level threat and the world was decimated by small pastel-colored fluffy bouncy thingies that came from underground.

Time Travelling. Aw, man...

The fifth time, Barry arrived to a house long burned by birthday candles. A charred corpse he assumed to be Joe West’s had its burned skull coincidentally (?) turned towards exactly where Barry was standing.

Time Travelling. Ugh.

The 8th time, the cake simply blew up and Barry never found out why.

*frustrated yelling*

The 15th time, the cake turned out to be a sentient alien sent to Earth to kill all the humans. Starting with Iris.

The 20th time, a ginger Iris had the privilege to find out she was suddenly allergic to strawberries.

The 33rd time, Iris turned out to have been made of cake all along. Barry was confused.

The 46th time, Joe West was a crazy serial killer who drowned his daughter in cake batter. He still looked at Barry accusingly.

The 60th time, Barry didn’t get to find out what was wrong with the cake, because Iris was a man and Barry just wasn’t gay for her. Him. Whatever.

The 127th time, a Doctor Who crossover happened in which The Doctor theorized Iris’s death by cake was a fixed point in time, but Barry used his secret superpower of Denial™ to go back again anyway.

The 214th time, a 3 years old reality-warper accidentally turned the entire world into cake.

The 358th time, the Actual First Fastest Man Alive jumped out of the cake and killed Iris just because he was bored.

The 433rd time, a tear in reality opened up right where the birthday cake was and swallowed up the universe.

And then, finally, by the 434th time Barry travelled back in time to change reality, a universe was born where cake didn’t exist. As he arrived to the party, the clouds parted, illuminating the house in a soft golden glow, birds sang like it was spring, and Barry was sure an angelical choir could be heard as he opened the door.

Iris choked on a piece of toast.

Barry decided that things had gotten complicated, and when things got complicated, there was always one person who seemed to have answers. Batman.

“Umm. Look, kid, I don’t actually know who you are and why you decided to tell me your entire life story,” said a slightly fazed Bruce Wayne in the middle of The Batcave two hours later, “but you seem to be overly hung up on this girl. Have you tried to, like... Not?”

“What do you mean?” Barry asked, eager.

“I know absolutely nothing about time travel and have no idea why you’re coming to me with this kind of problem, but maybe... Be a little less selfish?”

“What do you mean?” Barry asked, affronted.

“You just told me you changed reality _four hundred and thirty four times_ , and in _none_ of those times did you try giving up on the girl to save her life?”

“Why would I–”

“We’re superheroes, dumbass. The universe — or multiverse, I guess — will go to great lengths to teach us a lesson in honor, or honesty, or _selflessness_.”

The Author laughed at this Batman’s naivety, even if he wasn’t that far from the truth.

“Oh,” said Barry, a bit dejected, but sort of understanding. “Um. K.”

So this time, Barry Allen, 11th or 10th fastest man alive, decided to go further enough into the past that he and Iris never met. If only the boy had done that in the first place, it might have worked decently.

But, like, 435 attempts later, the multiuniverse got kinda broke, and Someone didn’t pieced it together proper.

Barry expected things to be different, so he wasn’t surprised about Iris’s house being on the other side of town, or that she had a dog, or even that her hair was dyed blue. He felt disheartened when remembering they didn’t know each other, but as long as Iris was alive and far away from any cakes, his own feelings didn’t matter.

What Barry did not expect was the newspaper that conveniently flied into his face. As he grabbed it and read the headlines, The Author forced him to think out loud so the readers could hear, “What the hell are the Avengers???”


	2. Flash, meet The Dark Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Flash meets The Dark Knight

Avengers.

Ok.

The paper said they were a superhero group who had saved New York from an alien invasion.

Ok.

No mention of the Justice League anywhere.

Ok.

He was not freaking out.

He was not.

Everything was okay.

He was not shaking. He was vibrating. Vibration is one of his powers. Everything was normal. Everything was ok.

.

He was freaking out.

Iris didn't know him.

He hadn't found his own house. What if Barry Allen didn't even exist in this universe?

Not a single mention of the Justice League on a world-level threat? Not even to complain that they didn’t do anything?? What if _none_ of his superhero friends existed???

Should he go back in time again?

But Iris.

But Iris over everyone else?

HE WAS FREAKING OUT.

.

No.

No, it would be ok.

Breathe, Barry. Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

There.

Fist mission: find out if his friends existed.

Would it be easier to speed-learn how to hack and access the digital archives or speed into the physical archives? HA. No, it was much easier to just Google it.

Barry ran over to the Central City Central Library and speed-changed into normal clothes. To Barry’s relief, books were unaltered in this universe, and computers seemed the same as well, and.

What the hell was a Googol?

Whatever, a search engine is a search engine; Google or Googol, Bruce Wayne was still a famous, rich socialite from Gotham. And Barry found news about a Dark Knight in the city, yes, good. Relief washed over him completely for a moment. He hadn’t un-existed Batman.

But then he got tense again; there was nothing about Superman. Unless he simply had a different alias, and.

Metropolis didn’t exist. What.

Barry went over to Googol (so weird) Maps, but where Metropolis should have been, there was just a small town called. Um... Town. Okay, so maybe Town didn’t need as much saving from Superman and he acted elsewhere? But as Barry searched, there weren’t other superheroes who matched his descriptions...

What if baby Kal El had stayed on Krypton and died with everyone else? What if he made it to Earth, but died in the landing? What if instead of being found by a nice family, he was being used for research?? What if he was suffering that very second??! What if he’d been suffering for years, and it was all Barry’s fault??!! _What if–_

No!

Stop.

You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.

Breathe. Batman was fine; Superman was probably fine, too. Maybe Krypton hadn’t blown up in this universe, and Kal El was living there happily with his family. Just fine.

Yes. Maybe. Keep searching.

There weren’t any news about Wonder Woman or Themyscira, and nothing on Aquaman and Atlantis, either. But in their case Barry couldn’t be sure if they didn’t exist or just hadn’t made contact with the rest of the world.

Nothing about a Martian. Maybe he, too, was happy on Mars with everyone else. Alive. Existing. Yay.

Searching for Green Lantern yielded no results, but Barry found several sightings all over the world of a man in green clothes who could fly and was surrounded by green energy, so there was hope for him yet.

Great. Wonderful. Amazing. So the Justice League wasn’t a thing, but at least some of its members maybe existed. Wow.

And apparently, there were a lot of new superheroes about, but Barry didn’t really feel like Googling (Googoling?) them quite yet.

Things had gotten complicated again. More lost now than ever before and tired of dealing with how everything had changed, Barry decided to go find his only anchor in this strange new universe.

Batman.

.

Gotham City was a few hours away even at Barry’s top speed, but the familiarity of the gloomy place, with its cloudy sky and gothic architecture, was worth every second of it.

Even the Batcave’s secret entrance was exactly where it was supposed to be, although the interior vastly differed from Barry’s expectations. The space had the impression of being smaller, more closed, and the rough cave walls were covered in black stone bricks. He saw none of the trophies Bruce had kept as memories on their original universe, only the Batmobile resting by itself on a black stone platform. It was different in form — looking more like an elegant sports car — but had the same glossy black finish, black windows, and black wheels; classy and sleek and absolutely beautiful. His hand hovered reverently as he sped by, but Barry didn’t dare touch it. He just crossed the black stone bridge leading from the car to a shadowed figure outlined by the light of some very familiar monitors.

The Flash had known Batman as an intelligent, mysterious, sometimes scary and scary efficient leader. He also knew the mask of Bruce Wayne, a nonchalant playboy who cared just enough about the city to throw money at it. But for all Bruce was called The Prince of Gotham, this was the first time Barry had ever thought of him as regal.

With his back towards the speedster, not wearing the cowl, soft black hair neatly haloed by the artificial lights, and a black cape long enough to drag on the floor spread behind him, Barry’s first thought was that a silver crown atop his head wouldn't look out of place.

"Bruce?" He called, but then thought better. "I mean, you are Bruce Wayne in this universe, right?" Or maybe Barry was just projecting. Maybe this wasn’t even the same man. What if Barry had destroyed everything that ever mattered in his life?

But Bruce turned his head, and blue eyes met blue eyes. Barry catalogued every detail in that face, from that exact shade of blue to the shape of his strong chin; from his unimpressed expression, to the soft dark bags under his eyes and the mussed up hair that detracted nothing from his royal demeanor. This really was Bruce. His Bruce. His Batman. His Anchor.

Barry started smiling, but as Bruce continued to gracefully turn around, Barry’s attention was caught by the black outfit. It wasn’t the Batsuit. Knowing Bruce, it was made of kevlar, but it resembled metal armor, gleaming in black. The breastplate vaguely mimicked the muscles underneath with layered plates (maybe for better mobility? Either way, it looked cool), and the boots were a strangely fitting mix of military and medieval. His gloves weren’t that different from the ones Barry knew, with spikes protruding from the sides, but they too looked like metal gauntlets. His shoulder was hidden by the cape, fastened by two round silver clasps engraved each by a different bird. _Robins_ , Barry thought, amused. The entire armor was lined in discreet silver flourishes, with two larger silver wings adorning the chest plate. Angelic, feathered wings, in no way resembling a bat.

“You’re not Batman,” slipped from his mouth faster than Barry could stop it (which was literally Super fast).

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose with a gauntleted hand and muttered something between “what the hell is happening” and “I feel like eating tacos” (Barry’s powers didn’t include super hearing, so it was a matter of speculation).

Then he looked back at Barry, took a deep breath, and exhaled a “look, kid,” but paused for what was, in Barry’s Super fast view, a long, long time, but was probably only maybe a second or two. Bruce opened and closed his mouth, uncertain, drove a hand through his hair (still perfect) then finally settled on “please get out. I’m working. Set an appointment with Alfred or something.”

It’s not as if Barry had expected a warm reunion, or anything like that, but the Bruce he knew would at least take the time to interrogate a stranger who got into the Batcave (was it still the Batcave if he wasn’t Batman?) without setting off any alarms.

“Bruce...” He said, dispirited by the rejection, “I know you don’t even know who I am, but...” Barry looked down, contemplating how to explain the importance of talking to him, but what slipped out was, “you are my only anchor in this universe...”

Wait.

That sounded wrong.

Barry blushed, and started sputtering, “no, no, I mean,” it wasn’t like that, just, “an anchor, like,” like what grounded him to reality? That was even worse! “I mean, you’re just,” just what? “You’re Batman, and,” but he wasn’t, “we’ve been through so much together,” except they hadn’t, “and...”

Barry couldn’t deal with this, not right now. That didn’t go at all like he expected. Bruce wasn’t his anchor anymore. Barry was alone again.

Air was getting harder and harder to breathe.

He ended up running away in panic, back to Central City, thinking of Iris; she was gone. Batman; gone. The Justice League. His friends. His life.

Gone.

All of it.

Leaving Barry completely alone in the vast expanses of an unknown universe.

He was hyperventilating now. He didn’t want to deal with this either.

All he wanted was to go back home...

.

But AAARRRGGGHHH, he didn’t even know where he lived!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Author: i have made a story.  
> Batman: you fucked up a perfectly good Flash, is what you did. look at it. it’s got anxiety.
> 
>  
> 
> _Next, on Something About Cake: why is a raven like a writing desk?_


	3. Dark Knight, Meet The Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce Wayne doesn't sleep and gets interrupted a lot

Bruce Wayne was having an especially weird day. Definitely weirder than the one with the disappearing purple goo. Maybe even weirder than the time he and Robin found a unicorn. Bruce felt tempted to smile at the thought, but his Robins were long gone, and all the happiest memories had turned into painful reminders of everything he’d lost. That is, however, a story for another time.

This weird day in particular had started with rain at nine in the morning. Bruce sat in the library couch, wearing the same casual suit he’d wore for the party the night before and going over some police files of the Jester’s latest string of thefts, when he noticed an increasingly loud rattling on the windows.

Rain, by itself, would have meant absolutely nothing on the perpetually cloudy city of Gotham, but the soft morning darkness had suddenly been replaced by a greenish light. As Bruce looked to the window, he saw glowing, highlighter-green droplets running down, and most people know that particular color rarely means anything good.

He hadn’t slept that night and the night before, more preoccupied with finding the connection between the Jester’s thefts, but this Weird Thing suddenly took precedence over anything else.

He turned on the TV. The local news channel was issuing warnings for the people to stay indoors, because sometimes the Gotham Police Department decided to become efficient for a change (usually when an incident affected the corrupted higher-ups).

The green tint immediately made Bruce think of Ivy Leaf, but he’d have to analyze it before reaching any conclusions.

So putting the Jester case aside, he grabbed a few mugs and cups from the kitchen (and put on his gauntlets, just in case), then walked back to the windows to collect some samples.

The rain gave no signs of having an effect on either the glass, plastic, ceramic or metal containers, so he carried the four back inside, juggling them in one hand so he could turn the hands of the old living room clock to 10:47. The timepiece then opened like a door, revealing the descending staircase of black stone bricks leading to the manor’s underground caves, his Castle.

The green liquid cast a dim light on the dark stairs as Bruce walked carefully down, trusting the clock to close automatically behind him, and into his lab, the only white room inside the Castle. He softly deposited the four containers besides the electronic microscope to gather other necessary materials.

.

An hour later, the analysis showed nothing suspicious in particular. The samples consisted mainly of regular mineral water infused with some vitamins and a natural bioluminescent element. It sounded like Ivy, alright. Bruce concluded it was safe to touch, and maybe even safe to drink, and anything else was somebody else’s problem.

Fantastic.

Bruce let the rain fall down in peace and returned to the police reports of the Jester’s thefts. Not wanting to go back up, he decided to bring up the files in the hangar computer.

The hangar was the largest space inside the Castle. Now devoid of anything that could bring up painful memories, there was only his custom car and the main computer terminal, which was connected to three giant monitors. He sat on the comfortable leather chair and started reading from the beginning, in case he’d missed any important details.

.

The peace lasted 12.5 minutes.

A new window popped up on the screen showing the manor’s front gate, where some sort of deliveryman had ringed the bell. Bruce didn’t remember ordering anything, but Alfred was out doing... Something (Bruce hadn’t really paid attention), so he grudgingly made his way back up to personally deal with the interruption.

The weird rain had stopped, but now there were a few glowing green puddles scattered about his front yard.

A lost-looking boy stood by the gate wearing a cap branded “Castello’s” with a bunch of really small words underneath. He held a box the size of... Well, a cake, judging by the illustrations on the packaging.

“Uhh... Delivery for Iris West-Allen?”

Great. Wonderful. Amazing.

“There is no one by that name here, bye.”

Bruce turned to leave, but the kid squeaked, desperate, “wait!”

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. He considered it a great accomplishment in self-control. Alfred would be proud.

“Uhh... The address was confirmed this morning, so–“

“Too bad, bye.”

Bruce ignored the boy’s desperate pleads and got back inside.

Interruption successfully dealt with, he sat at the library and grabbed the physical Jester files again, looking for the part he’d stopped back at the Castle.

But it nagged him.

What if it was a trap of some sort? What if someone was devising a plan to infiltrate the manor through... Cake?

Bruce went down once more to look into this Iris West-Allen.

.

Oh.

Today was her birthday.

She lived in Central City.

Address: 1007, Mountain Drive. The same as the Wayne Manor.

There was a Castello’s bakery both in Gotham and in Central City.

Ok, nothing suspicious there.

Nothing suspicious. There.

She probably just ordered a birthday cake in the wrong city. Happens all the time.

There was a sudden flickering on the screen, and where her name previously was, now read only Iris West.

A bug?

Bruce checked her ID again. Iris West. Driver’s license. Iris West. No marriage certificate. No name changes. No one in her close relations named Allen.

Ok, so that was definitely Something Suspicious.

He called the bakery.

“Castello’s Cakes, Pies, Quick Breads, Tarts, Pastries, Muffins and Brownies, how may I help you?”

“Hi.” Bruce tried, really tried, he’d swear he tried to sound pleasant (he even smiled, and everything, it just never reached his voice). “I’d like to confirm a delivery for Iris West-Allen.”

Typing clacks ensued.

“I’m sorry, there’s no delivery scheduled with that name. Do you mean Iris West?”

Suspicious.

“Yes, Iris West. The address should be 1007, Mountain Drive, in Central City.”

“Yes, that’s– Wait, _Central City??!!_ Oh, no!!”

“Yeah, yeah, oh no.” He hung up.

Very suspicious.

...

But was it as important as the Jester’s latest scheme?

Probably not, so he went back to reading those files.

.

It lasted 13 minutes, which was technically an improvement.

A window popped up on the screen corner, informing him the Jester was Currently Stealing Things That Very Moment Go After Him Right Now.

Yes, finally a worthy interruption of his work!

He took 27 frustrating minutes to put on his Dark Knight armor, though. It was an arduous task without Alfred to help (and Bruce really should talk to Stark about automating it like the Iron Man suit).

He looked for his silver sword (over the fridge; ridiculous), then put on the angular helmet at last, before hopping into the car.

It was strange, driving around Gotham without the cover of the night, but still familiar enough that Bruce barely paid attention to where he needed to go.

Even after a significant delay, Bruce still got to the address before the police (if they were even coming), but the Jester was long gone.

At one point, people would have been reluctant and afraid to talk to The Dark Knight, but nowadays they just sort of accepted that Superheroes were A Thing and the GCPD was practically useless, so Bruce was easily granted access to the crime scene.

Which was the house of a raven trainer (and was that even a thing?).

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to go on besides the busted door and the witnesses who said they saw the Jester and Harley Quinn stealing some ravens.

The Jester was intelligent, but he was also a performer, always calling for his audience’s attention (whether it was The Dark Night or the Gothamites). The bare amount of evidence left behind and the quick escape cemented Bruce’s suspicions that the thefts weren’t his endgame, only preparations for the final show.

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ , Bruce thought.

And why did he just think that? It wasn’t even grammatically correct!

He really was tired.

No matter, the Knight had collected and catalogued what small amount of evidence there was and talked to every relevant witness, so it was time to drive back to the Castle to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

By then, it was already dark, and Bruce was hungry, having eaten nothing all day. But he had work to do, and no time to waste on frivolities like food, so he took off the helmet and left the car straight for the computer.

And right there, beside the keyboard, was a steaming bowl of soup.

Alfred.

Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

He took a deep breath, taking in the flavor, but he didn’t have to. He knew it was Mulligatawny soup. His favorite.

.

Time passed pleasantly as Bruce tried to connect the latest theft with the others.

It was five past midnight when the Castle’s silent alarms went off. Bruce got up, but immediately after, there was a bright light and a loud crackling sound from behind him, then a voice spoke extremely fast, making the words mesh together.

“Bruce? I mean, youareBruceWayneinthisuniverse, right?”

He turned to look at the newcomer who apparently knew who he was and how to enter the Castle undeterred in less than a second and did he just say this universe?

It was a young man in a ridiculously red spandex outfit with a lightning insignia on his chest and over both ears, quite literally vibrating with energy. Bruce discreetly turned off the silent alarms, deciding to deal with this himself.

As he turned fully around, the kid started to smile, but then faltered.

“You’re not Batman.”

_The hell’s a Batman?_

Bruce pinched his nose and muttered, “what the fuck kind of stupid day is this,” before looking back at the now slightly confused kid, and said, “look, kid,” but argh, he really didn’t know how to handle this. “Please get out. I’m working. Set an appointment with Alfred or something.”

Was that too rude?

Was that rude enough to make him leave?

“Bruce...” The kid started, and Oh No. His eyes turned round and shiny and his irises grew to impossible proportions and his lower lip was trembling and _please tell me he’s not going to cry_ , Bruce thought. “I know you don’t even know who I am, but...” He turned those deadly eyes down. It helped exactly nothing. Now the boy looked like a kicked puppy, and what had Bruce ever done to deserve this?? “You are my only anchor in this universe...”

What was that supposed to mea–

The boy was blushing.

What. The fuck.

So was this some sort of love confession or something?

No, because the kid seemed to realize what he just said and sputtered a lot of nonsense which Bruce inferred as denial, then he was gone in a flash. A literal flash, with red and yellow streaks of lightning and oh, now his outfit made a lot of sense. Also how he got into the Castle almost before the silent alarms were triggered.

Bruce was left staring at the suddenly empty space for roughly two seconds before the kid came back, the same lightning trailing behind him, fidgeting in embarrassment.

“Um... So this is kind of awkward, but could you maybe look up the address of a Bartholomew Henry Allen?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Allen? Wasn’t that the name of the....

“What’s wrong?” The boy asked, and then went on babbling really fast, “oh, of course, I didn’t even say why, I mean, it’s not like I’m stalking anyone, it’s actually my own–”

“No,” Bruce cut off his rambling, “that’s not it. A cake was delivered to me by mistake this morning. It had the name Iris West-Al–” and what the hell.

The kid, who had been vibrating (and what was up with that?) up until that point suddenly went completely still. Whatever little skin Bruce could see behind the mask turned pale, and the kid’s eyes got wide.

(huh, they were a pretty shade of blue; like the morning sky)

( _not the time_ )

The kid looked absolutely terrified. “I... I have to go,” he said, then turned to leave, but even though Bruce could see a few stray yellow sparks, the kid was moving slowly. Only his hands were shaking, but this wasn’t like the vibrating energy from before; this was fear, and all Bruce wanted to do was hold them until they stopped, but he felt it wasn’t his place.

And yet, before the knight realized, his hands were on the boy’s shoulders. “Wait.”

The kid stopped, but didn’t turn around, and now what? Bruce couldn’t think of single valid reason for him to stay, even though there were probably several, and out slipped the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t even know your name.”

That made the kid turn around, Bruce’s hand dropping from his shoulder. He laughed, but he might as well have been sobbing. “Right, you don’t even... You don’t even know...” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, recollecting himself, then looked back up with a hollow smile and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Bartholomew Henry Allen. You can call me Barry.”

Oh.

Why would he be looking for his own address?

Bruce slowly took Barry’s hand. They were more steady now. “Bruce Wayne. But I guess you already knew that.”

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, because Barry’s hand started shaking again. But then he looked over Bruce’s shoulder, and froze again.

Bruce was starting to worry that he would have some sort of breakdown, but Barry surprised him with a genuine giggle. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

Oh, the Jester thefts. Some pictures and police files were still displayed in the giant monitors. Bruce didn’t know what could possibly be funny about that, but it created the perfect opportunity to get back to work while at the same time distracting Barry from whatever his problem was with cake being suspiciously delivered to the wrong address, so he turned to look at the monitors with Barry.

“I don’t know, that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Why would the Jester steal ten trained ravens, ten writing desks and ten cheap, generic tea sets?”

And now he’d apparently said something right, because Barry was openly laughing.

(it was a pleasant sound that Bruce wouldn’t mind hearing more often)

“The Jester? Seriously?” He laughed some more. “You’re a knight!” Yes, Bruce thought that much was obvious. “Your arch-enemy is a jester! And,” Barry looked around, “oh my God, this is a castle!” And then he resumed his giggle fit.

“How can you know who I am and not know about the Jester?” Bruce asked, half rhetorical and half exasperated. “Wait, is this about...” What had Barry called him before? “...Batman?”

Aaaand that was another wrong thing to say, because Barry instantly deflated. The abrupt resulting silence made Bruce wonder if the kid was even breathing.

This kind of emotional roller coaster was the reason he didn’t like interacting with people beyond the superficial level.

“Anyway,” Barry continued without answering his question, “it’s Alice in Wonderland.”

He left that hanging in the air like it was supposed to mean something.

“You know... The book?”

No, Bruce didn’t know the book.

“The very famous book? The classic book? Oh, wait... Unless it’s not.” Barry gestured to the keyboard in front of them. “May I?”

Normally, Bruce wouldn’t let an almost-stranger anywhere near The Computer, but this entire situation was far from normal, so he just stepped away as an invitation.

What followed was very much worth it.

Barry took a deep breath, then his fingers started practically flying over the keyboard at literally Superhuman speed, with the same red and yellow sparks from before surrounding them. Different windows popped up and changed in the screen faster than Bruce could keep up, until Barry settled on some scanned pages from an old-looking book.

“Wow, I can’t believe how long it took for me to find this,” Barry said in dissatisfaction.

Considering not even 10 seconds had passed, Bruce wondered what he would deem an optimal result. But it was yet another problem for another time, so Bruce turned his attention the information on the screen.

Alice’s Wonderland Adventures was a book published in 1925 by Caroll Lewis. According to an article from the thirties, it broke sales records that year, but was quickly torn down by The Mother’s Association for Safe Children for being deemed “too psychedelic”. By the time The MASC fell, in 1934, the book had already been forgotten.

“An obscure story like this sounds just like wat the Jester would use as inspiration for his crimes.”

Barry snickered again, and Bruce really wanted to know what was up with that, but it wasn’t the time.

“Here,” Barry showed him one of the scanned pages. “Chapter seven: A Mad Tea Party. Huh, I can’t believe it’s exactly the same. The Mad Hatter asks Alice ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’, she thinks about it for a while, then gives up and asks for the answer, but the Mad Hatter tells her ‘I haven’t the slightest idea’.”

“That sounds... Pointless.”

“The pointlessness is the point. It means we shouldn’t keep asking questions that have no answers.”

“And how does that help?”

“Well, if the,” he snickered again, “the Jester is using Alice as a theme, he might steal more related things. Pocket watches, playing cards, I don’t know.”

The kid was smart. And somehow had very specific knowledge about obscure children books, which had been coincidentally (?) important in the way of understanding this case. Suspicious, but Bruce would deal with it later. Right now, stopping the Jester was the most urgent business.

Bruce started reading the book and Barry slumped on his chair. Which. Was fine. He didn’t even want to use it, anyway... Standing was. Great. Yeah.

.

Bruce found too many subtle themes in the book for the Jester to use, but the tea sets, ravens and writing desks he’d already stolen all pertained to the tea party. Maybe instead of trying to predict the next theft, Bruce just had to find him.

He searched for appropriate locations throughout the city and... Yes! An abandoned amusement park called Wonderland, exactly the type of place the Jester liked to hang out. Bruce moved to ask Barry for his opinion, but when he turned around, he saw the kid already asleep, curled up on the chair.

Suspicions about mysterious circumstances aside, he couldn’t help but slightly smile. Apparently, it had been a tiring day for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was longer than the two previous chapters combined! I'll try to keep this up~
> 
> _Next, on Something About Cake: who needs pancakes when you can have interrogations for breakfast?_


	4. Not Every White Room Is A Blank Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which not everything The Author writes is a metaphor, damn it

Bruce was wearing his black sleeping robes and brooding over a cup of coffee by the small kitchen table while thinking about Bartholomew Henry Allen, when Alfred entered the room.

“What would you like for breakfast, Master Bruce?”

“Answers,” he answered with all the intensity he could muster.

Alfred was clearly not impressed. The butler sent him a look between disappointed, stern, and pleading that Bruce translated to “don’t be too hard on the boy.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes to convey “the boy is suspicious, and suspicions warrant interrogations.”

Alfred’s look lost all its pleading nature as he amped up the stern-disappointment. “No interrogations on MY breakfast,” the look said.

Bruce averted his eyes. Damn, he’d lost their silent exchange. Relenting, he answered, “pancakes, then.”

Alfred’s smile was way too smug. Bruce huffed.

 

↤ ∘ ↦

 

Barry woke up to an unfamiliar place.

He could make out few shapes in the blue-tinted shadows; the edge of a lamp on a bedside table, a fluttering curtain, a tall thing (bookcase, maybe?). But they were all out of focus. Barry tried to rub his eyes.

He couldn’t move.

Panic took over as he mentally reached for his arms, legs, fingers; a little numb, but still there. The muscles just weren’t responding. Why couldn’t he move? It wasn’t like anything was holding him.

Until it was.

A cold bony hand grabbed his throat and squeezed.

He couldn’t breathe.

What the hell.

Two glowing yellow gem-like eyes shined right in Barry’s face. The sudden brightness stung in the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t close them or look away.

“Barrrry... Allennnn,” the thing screeched. “I will desssstroy... Youuu...”

.

Barry woke up with a sharp intake of breath, in a room illuminated by soft golden light.

Just a dream, then.

Even awake, he couldn’t move; there was a weight on his chest pushing him against a very comfortable mattress. But it didn’t make him feel trapped like the Whatever from his dream had, especially because one arm was free. He clenched and unclenched that hand, just to prove to himself he could, and sighed in relief.

Barry made an effort to crane his neck down without moving anything else, only to find. Cat ears. Attached to a human body.

He blushed. A female body, from what he could feel.

She had short black hair and black feline ears, but he couldn’t see the rest, hidden under their shared white blanket.

And what now?

Barry considered it an act of pure evil to wake up an animal who’s sleeping on you, even if that animal was a person, so he settled his head back onto the very comfortable pillow and stared at the ceiling.

Wow. What an interesting ceiling. So tall. Very white. With some pretty arcs.

He’d never spent much time in Wayne Manor, not even in the original universe. If the Justice League were ever needed in Gotham (and if Bruce allowed them to step foot in his city) they always gathered in the Batcave.

Of course, the Batcave wasn’t the Batcave anymore, and neither was the Justice League.

Somehow, that thought didn’t hurt Barry as much as it had before. This universe might have been different, but that didn’t make it necessarily worse.

Maybe he just had to find out what his life was like here, and live it. Which meant, primarily, knowing _where_ he lived. He’d already asked Bruce the night before, but the conversation had... Derailed.

Bruce. The Dark Knight. Barry smiled. The Jester. The _Castle_. Barry thought the medieval-themed thing Gotham had going on was absolutely ridiculous, and had to fight hard not to laugh out loud, lest it wake up the cat woman using him as a pillow.

Wait. Cat? Woman? Cat woman? Catwoman? _Catwoman_ Catwoman?

A soft knock on the door jostled Barry from his thoughts. He craned his neck uncomfortably again to see the door being opened and Alfred peeking from the corridor. Barry smiled excitedly at the caring butler, then nodded pointedly at the sleeping woman and brought his free index finger to his lips.

Alfred seemed unfazed by her presence (Barry didn’t know if that told more about his character or hers), but seemed to understand the boy’s plead for silence.

“I’m making pancakes,” he whispered, “and wished to know if you have any allergies or dislikes.”

Once upon a time, fragile Barry Allen had asthma and was allergic to Everything. And then Superpowers happened.

He just shook his head as an answer, but that was enough to disturb the body resting over him.

Alfred nodded in understanding and left the room as the cat woman who might have been Catwoman stirred, groaned, and stretched. She looked up into Barry’s face and blinked sleepily with green eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling guilty, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” But now that he saw her face, Barry was pretty sure this was, “Selina Kyle, right?”

She looked slightly surprised, but mostly confused, with one ear drooping adorably as she turned her head.

“Are you here to steal something?” he asked in a neutral tone.

To his own confusion, she smiled and booped his nose with a clawed finger. “You’re a nice boy,” she said, then rolled over to the empty side of the bed, dragging the blanket with her.

He shivered from the sudden cold, and realized someone (read: Alfred) had taken his Flash uniform and changed him into blue pajamas. He felt a bit naked wearing unfamiliar clothes, but the pajamas were. So. Comfy.

And now, freed from the weight, he could sit up to take in the room.

It was... white. Very white.

Barry was pretty sure this was just a guest bedroom, but it was bigger than his living room. It even had its own pseudo-living room by the foot of the bed, with two small couches and a rug in between. All white.

There was a white lamp over the white bedside table, some fluttering white curtains covering large windows, and the same tall thing he’d seen in his dream. He’d been right, then, it really was a bookcase. A white bookcase. An empty white bookcase, and there were others just like it covering the walls, along with different-sized white dressers and white closets.

Barry got up to look at the king sized bed. Black cat ears resting on white pillows and white blankets upon white sheets, outlined by a white bedframe, surrounded by white walls, and over the bed, an empty frame of white wood.

Someone had definitely been trying too hard.

The carpets, at least, were an afternoon-sky blue, like his pajamas; if not for that, Barry would’ve thought he’d gone insane. Or maybe died.

All this white, if a little tacky, was a nice metaphor for a new beginning, he thought. A white canvas. A blank slate.

The Author laughed at this Barry Allen’s naivety, even if he wasn’t that far from the truth.

 

↤ ∘ ↦

 

Bruce was still brooding over his now-cold cup of coffee by the kitchen table while Alfred made pancakes, when Bar– the kid walked in. He looked less... vibrate-y than before, and he wondered what it meant, but didn't dwell on it.

Bruce instinctively assumed a better posture and gave his nicest publicity smile, to lull the boy into a false sense of security before asking questions.

It didn’t work. The kid just got angry, sitting aggressively opposite him.

“Don’t use that fake smile with me, Bruce.”

Weird, it usually worked.

(except on Alfred, but nothing worked on Alfred)

Bruce dropped the pretense and went back to his more genuine expression of wariness and distrust. The kid relaxed, and even smiled. How strangely backwards. To quote Alice, now that he knew he was quoting Alice, _curiouser and curiouser,_ Bruce thought.

No roundabouts, then. Time to get straight to the point.

“Bartholomew Henry Allen. I searched for that name after I was done with work last night,” he started, and the kid leaned forward in anxious expectation. “It doesn’t exist anywhere, so who are you?”

Bruce expected defensiveness. Aggression. Resignation. After all, the boy had lied about who he was. Bruce even expected him to run away at super speed.

But Bruce didn’t expect this.

Sadness. The same hopeless sadness the kid had shown the previous night. He stared passively at the table between them for a while, muttering nonsense, then looked back up straight at Bruce, with those shining round blue eyes and trembling lips.

“I... I don’t exist,” he said like it was a question Bruce was supposed to answer.

That threw him completely off-balance, not that he showed any. And now Bruce was just confused. It was like this kid had come straight from an alternate universe where everything was backwards and nothing made sense.

The Author laughed at this Bruce Wayne’s naivety, even if he wasn’t that far from the truth.

Alfred placed three plates of blueberry pancakes on the table, sending Bruce a reproaching look that made him feel small, a kind smile towards the kid, and another warning look to Bruce before leaving the room.

They ate in comfortable silence, and Bruce was the one to break it.

“Kid–“ he started, but was angrily interrupted.

“I’m not a kid! I’m 29!” The kid said, stabbing his pancakes aggressively with the fork, then continued more sadly, “and my name is Barry.”

The speed in which his emotions changed was absolutely dizzying. And he couldn’t possibly be merely three years younger than Bruce, no way. But he let it be, for now.

“Barry, then.” The kid nodded. “I’m going to need some explanations.”

He sniffed. “I traveled back in time and now I don’t exist anymore...”

Somehow, those were the most sensible words to have come out of his mouth so far.

Time travelling. Bruce could deal with time travelling. Time travelling was so much easier than fluctuating emotions.

“Though I’m extremely interested in how you can talk about time travel so casually, what I really need to know right now is why.”

Barry sighed and looked down at his plate, playing with a stray blueberry. “My fiancée... She died.”

Bruce tried to process that. “So you went back in time to save her.” Barry nodded. “And now she’s alive, but... you don’t exist?”

Barry laughed a bit hysterically. “Almost... I don’t actually know that she’s alive, you see. This time, things were too different, so I came to you for answers.” He smiled sadly, looking back up. “You always seemed to have answers.”

“This time?” Bruce noticed perceptively. “So this isn’t the first time you time traveled?”

“No. It’s the...” He frowned in concentration. “...four hundred and thirty sixth, I think. Recently, I mean.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. “And in all those times...”

“She died. Always something about cake.”

Bruce couldn’t help but feel sorry. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one, and multiplying that feeling by more than four hundred times? It was enough to make anyone go insane.

 

↤ ∘ ↦

 

Barry didn’t really know how to feel.

He’d woken up that morning somewhat optimistically, decided about living his new life, but now found out he didn’t even have one.

As Bruce had sat there asking him questions (wearing a distractingly elegant, and undoubtedly expensive, black sleeping robe), Barry felt like this was different from before, when he’d told an Alternate Universe Batman his entire life story at once. This time, this universe, felt more permanent somehow, and Barry didn’t want to mess anything up.

The familiarity of Bruce’s distrust was strangely comforting. Then the fact that he wasn’t fazed at all by the mention of Time Travel worked wonders for Barry’s insecurity, but those were only the first steps towards rebuilding all those years of working together.

And when they finished eating, Bruce offered, almost gently, “do you want me to help you find you fiancée?”

Barry had to think hard about it. Did he? The obvious answer had to be yes, of course! He even knew where Iris lived already, and she looked just fine yesterday. But...

What if Iris was dead again? Would he just go back to save her? Could she even be saved? When would it stop? Batman from another universe had told him this was a lesson in selflessness, because he’d put their relationship above her life. But wasn’t it just as selfish to keep putting her life above the rest of the entire universe? Should he really keep traveling back? _Could_ he? At the thought of Time Travelling again, the two glowing yellow orbs from his dream came to mind, and he felt paralyzed for some reason.

Of course, that was only in the case he’d failed again. If he’d succeeded, Iris would have a nice new life, and Barry would have no place in it. No place in the universe. A lesson in selflessness, indeed.

Either way, the moment he found Iris, dead or alive, Barry would have to make a decision, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t know if I even want to know whether she’s alive or not...”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce chided. “What are you, a child? The truth is hard, but you need to know it. I’m just asking if you want my help or not.”

Barry felt offended before feeling silly.

Bruce was right (and when was he ever wrong?), dealing with reality was hard, but Barry was a Superhero, wasn’t he? He averted his eyes in embarrassment. “Thanks, then, your help would be nice.”

“So what’s her name?”

“Iris. Iris West.”

Bruce stood up suddenly, letting his fork clatter onto the floor.

Barry was confused by the extreme reaction, before remembering their conversation from the night before.

“Oh, yeah, you said they delivered a c-cake,“ he stuttered on the word for some reason, but it was fast enough that Bruce probably didn’t notice it, “by mistake. But it can’t be the same Iris, mine lives in Central City.”

 

↤ ∘ ↦

 

Bruce noticed that Barry had stuttered on the word “cake”. No wonder, if what he’d said was true about her hundreds of deaths and “always something about cake”, Bruce would be surprised if he ever wanted to even look at cake again.

Barry had insisted their Irises were different, but what he’d said only confirmed that they weren’t.

“My Iris,” (and what a weird conversation this was, Bruce thought), “lives in Central too. We have the same address, they just mixed up the cities. But that’s not the weird thing.” Bruce sat back down as Barry looked at him in a disbelieving what-do-you-mean-that’s-not-the-weird-thing way. “The weird thing is that when the cake,” Barry tensed at the word, “was delivered, it had the name Iris West-Allen.”

His eyes flew open at that.

(and wow, they were really a pretty shade of blue)

(and wow, that was still not the time)

“But I don’t understand,” Barry said. “If we never got married, if I don’t even exist, how can she have my last name?”

“That was only half of the weird thing. When I looked up her name, there was a sudden glitch, and it changed to Iris West. I called the bakery, and they told me the delivery was for Iris West. It was as if the ‘Allen’ had suddenly ceased to exist.”

“Me,” Barry concluded in a small voice, “I ceased to exist on that moment.” Bruce nodded.

There was a second in which Barry’s eyes flew all over the place, and Bruce wondered if he was imagining the yellow sparks in them. Maybe he was thinking at super-speed. And then he continued, “do you think I caused it? I thought no one was supposed to notice the changes...”

“You’d know better. I don’t know how time travel works.”

Barry averted his eyes and chewed on his lower lip. “Well... I don’t actually know how it works either.”

This was news. Bruce would’ve thought after so many times Barry had to be an expert. Or at least a little more responsible about it. He sighed. “I might know a few people who’d be interested in time travel, I guess. They might have some theories.”

Although he wasn’t sure he wanted Barry mixed up with them. But his eyes were shining in excitement now, and Bruce found out he couldn’t refuse them.

He got up. “Come on, let’s go find your maybe-fiancée, and I’ll call some... friends.”

When he said they were going down into the Castle, Barry snickered, and Bruce really, really wanted to know what was up with that.

 

↤ ∘ ↦

 

Barry felt as excited as he was nervous.

He followed Bruce into the Castle with a snicker. Bruce shot him a disapproving look at that, and he had to resist the childish temptation of sticking his tongue out.

Going down the stairs the correct way (through that nice vintage clock) felt different, but not really. Even in the daytime, no light reached downstairs, so it looked the same as the night before.

Except there were two chairs in front of the computer today, and the way Bruce squinted his eyes suspiciously at them made Barry think Alfred had brought the extra one without his knowledge.

They sat down, and Bruce got to searching.

Barry took a deep breath and held it in anticipation, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at the screen.

But a few clicks and clacks later, Bruce said calmly, “Iris West seems to be alive.”

Barry opened his eyes and let out his breath in a whimper of relief.

It was a rare instance in which Bruce was genuinely smiling, if only slightly, and Barry felt the urge to kiss that smile right off his face.

But, like.

Platonically.

He settled for a short hug before running euphoric in circles around the dark room.

He did it, he did it, he did it! He saved Iris!

And what now?

Now, anything and everything!

Now there were the questions of whether his other old friends from the Justice League were alive, who these Avengers were, why he had disappeared from existence right in front of Bruce’s eyes, and what the hell Barry was going to do with the rest of his life.

Because if reconnecting with Iris is what caused her death, Barry preferred to stay away.

He stopped running and smiled sadly.

That’s what love was, right? Giving up everything, _everything,_ for her happiness. And the Iris who knew him, who loved him, would have wanted Barry to be happy, too, right?

With that thought in mind, he could do it. He could move on. He could handle this new life, this new universe, whatever happened.

He looked decidedly at Bruce, who had been staring patiently. “It’s over.” He sat back on the chair by his side. “Now, let’s solve the mystery of my sudden disappearance.”

Bruce nodded and said towards the screen, “call Tony Stark,” then grabbed a headset, leaving Barry to piece together his side of the conversation.

“Hey, Tony. Wait, did I wake you?” Bruce frowned. “No, I know you’re not a——But even you need sleep, right?——Of course I have!” He said, affronted, but then deflated. “Well... Three days. But my work is important!——I know, I know, sciencing is important too.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t call you to nag about sleep, I actually have a bit of a case for you.——Oh, I promise it is. So how interested are you in time travel?” From Bruce’s smug smirk of satisfaction, Barry would guess very interested. “I’ll send someone your way, then. I think you’ll like him.——Barry Allen.——Sort of. He can explain better when he gets there.” His look of satisfaction turned into annoyance. “I hope not.”

And he hung up.

Barry was dying to know who was this person who could produce more genuine expressions on Bruce’s face in a few minutes than Barry had seen him use maybe ever.

“Who is Tony Stark?”

Bruce had returned his face to impassiveness, but the long pause before he answered showed clear incredulity.

“Tony Stark. You know, Iron Man.” Barry stared. “From the Avengers.”

Oh!

“So he’s a fellow Super Hero!” He said, excited. “We didn’t have Avengers in my original universe! And does this Tony Stark have powers related to Time Travel?”

“No.”

Barry waited in silence for more, but after a few seconds it became clear Bruce wasn’t going to elaborate. He pouted.

“So how do I find him?”

For all Bruce’s look was still blank, he looked distinctly amused by the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the one week delay, The Author has no buffer. Writing is hard.
> 
> _Next, on Something About Cake: The Avengers! (finally)_


End file.
